Drug Bust
by Word Player
Summary: House's newest client is smart, beautiful and well connected. Hating her is easy. Her diagnosis isn't. When House has to deal with Cuddy's jealousy Wilson's thinly veiled infatuation and building tensions among his team, a few more pills don't seem so bad
1. Action

Thanks for the click! First House fanfic, this one I will finish. I swear. This is not a HousexOC romance fic, but there will be some sexual tension other places. This is set before Foreman resigns, with Cameron, Chase, and Foreman on the team. He's not yet met tritter, so he's still got bags of trouble everywhere he goes.

Enjoy!

* * *

It wasn't her fault the entire world was absolutely useless. (She was Caramia, it was never her fault) Unfortunately, because it was the entire world she was fed up with she couldn't place the blame on any one person, and this irritated her to no end.

She sat on her private jet, the bright red of her Jimmy Choo pumps flashing from underneath her seat, winking at the jealous stewardess. She was staring out of the window at the coastline as it passed beneath her at speeds exceeding 500 miles an hour. Her hand tailored suit clung to her tight body expertly, her dark brown hair was pulled back in a no-nonsense bun. One of her perfectly manicured hands held her chin in its palm as she observed the ocean, the other tapped lightly on the screen of her blackberry.

She glared at the front of the jet, and switched positions, her legs slipping over one another in a practiced movement. Caramia was polished and poised, her tanned skin a beautiful caramel complexion that set off her honey-brown eyes, currently hidden behind large-rimmed sunglasses. She was a real Venezuelan beauty, despite her lack of any real curves. She had a narrow waist and a decent B-sized bust, but nothing by normal South American standards. Many suspected that surgery had corrected her small cup problem.

She sighed heavily, her tapered fingers reaching for a magazine perched on top of an expensive purse.

Damn the captain, Caramia thought bitterly, opening up the business magazine. Damn the flight crew, damn the silly American regulations about foreign planes in their airspace. Didn't they know who she was? She should be let anywhere she wanted to go, simply because she wished it.

"More champagne, Miss Fuentes?" The stewardess held out the delicate flute out to the woman. Caramia didn't even glance at the young girl but reached out with slim fingers for the glass, as she had so often done. Slight tremors made her frail fingers tremble. The glass was knocked over, narrowly missing the purse and ending up all over the poor flight attendant.

"Idiota!" Caramia exclaimed, flicking the small drops on the edge of her fingers off her hand and onto the stewardess' already soaking shirt. "Be more careful!"

"Yes m'am." The young girl stuttered, taking a step back quickly to avoid tipping over the tray of the champagne. "I'll get another glass-"

"Don't bother." Caramia said, now wiping off her hand with a towel another attendant had given her. She threw the cloth at the girl as she walked back to the rear of the plane.

"Giving me a glass while the plane is shaking. What a stupid girl." Caramia muttered. The other host gave her a confused look. The plane had been flying steadily for the past hour. The skies were clear; there wasn't even a cloud in the sky.

"Dios, I have a headache." The woman said. Her hands and arms had begun to shake even more. "You, get me some medicine." She had begun to chatter, and pulled at her v-neck. "Is anyone else hot in here?" Caramia had begun to sweat and the male host came back.

"Miss Fuentes?"

"Está cualquiera más caliente?"* She asked, her prettily arched eyebrows shooting upwards as she began to fan herself. "Dios Mio. Lllame al medico."** The host caught the woman as she fell forward, her entire body convulsing in his arms.

"Land the plane! Land it! Now! Get a doctor!"

He placed the woman in the isle. Her glasses had slipped off and her full lipped mouth was clenched tightly, her jaw shaking. Honey eyes rolled into the back of her head and every inch of her body was caught up in a painful seizure as the captain began phoning for emergency landing. He got it, of course. This was Caramia Fuentes.

* * *

The Spanish, loosely translated is

*"Is anyone else hot in here?"

**"My god. Call the doctor."

More to come. Don't you feel compelled to write a review after that cliff hanger?


	2. Betting

I saw the hits on this thing and then looked at the reviews. Leave me hanging like that. Thanks guys.

* * *

Cameron was not happy. House, the big baby, had been avoiding Cuddy like the plague. It only figured that she would be the one left to deliver the file. Stupid House, he was acting like a child. Normal, damn him. She stormed into his office, not even bothering to knock. Her eyes widened in exasperation and a small sigh escaped her lips.

"What are you doing?" She asked, crossing her arms, watching her boss carefully. House glanced at her briefly before his eyes darted to the objects darting on and off his right hand. He continued twirling his cane in one hand and juggling his red and grey ball, a pen and a stapler in the other.

"Practicing my circus act." He said. He immediately put each item down carefully on his desk, slid around on his good leg and tossed his cane lightly into the air. It did two flips before House caught it neatly in his right hand. He smiled at Cameron, arms akimbo. "Ta da!"

"Don't quit your day job." Cameron said staring at House with a look of slight disbelief.

"What's that?" House asked, pointing with his cane at the blue file in his teammate's hand. He began to walk over to her, his limp pronounced as he did so. Cameron held out the file for him.

"This is what's keeping you from being in the circus." She said as he shot her a swift glance downwards. He flipped through the file quickly and closed it, throwing it on his desk as he began to walk out of his door. Cameron looked at him as he pushed open the glass door.

"Wait!" Cameron called, a tad offended as she walked forward to grab the file from House's desk. She pushed open the door and yelled down the hallway. "What about the patient?"

"Give her to a neurologist!" House replied over his shoulder, "I need a little run!", he said continuing to walk down the hallway. Cameron sighed and looked at the file. It seemed pretty simple, but why did House have to be such an asshole about diagnosing the silly girl? Rolling her eyes she decided to track down Foreman. Maybe he would have a look at her.

House entered Cuddy's office much like Cameron entered his. Unannounced and slightly annoyed. "Can't you give me a fun case? I haven't had fun in ages mummy." He asked, clapping his hands together, leaning on his left leg and looking at the woman from under half-lidded eyes, faking sincerity.

Cuddy stared at House, her mouth slightly open. She was on her computer and quickly shut down the few windows that were up. "No." She sounded so scandalized that House almost turned and left. But this was Lisa. Hell no he wasn't about to leave.

"Pretty please?"

"House." Cuddy turned fully towards the man, placed her hands on her desk and stared the man down with looks that might have felled a bull elephant. "Get to work."

House raised his eyebrows. "Using your feminine wiles to persuade me?" He asked, looking pointedly downward at her light blue v-neck shirt. Cuddy cleared her throat lightly to get house's attention but it didn't work out the way she would have liked.

"Do it again. I like screamers best." House said, not appearing quite as disinterested as he would normally.

"House!" Cuddy exclaimed, a little shocked.

"Mummy?" His eyebrows raised as his gaze went from her chest to her eyes.

"My shirt is fine." Cuddy said, her glare intensifying as she stood up. "I don't pay you to stand around."

"That's right!" House said, stepping forward and staring down the dean. "You pay me to diagnose tricky cases. She has epilepsy. End of story. Give me a tricky one."

"You don't know that!" Cuddy sighed, exasperated. She raised a hand to her temple and closed her eyes lightly. She really did not need this sort of thing right now. Especially considering the girl that had just been airlifted to her hospital was not technically an American citizen and even further, not technically allowed in the United States. Thank god for Good Samaritan laws.

"Bet." House stuck his cane under his arm and held out his hand to Lisa. Cuddy looked at the man's hand curiously and then back up at House, almost scandalized.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll bet on it." House said, "If it's not epilepsy you'll get . . . ." House trailed off thinking of something he could offer Cuddy that would incite her to play his little game. His mouth went over to one side and his eyes drifted to the ceiling as he thought. "Oh. One week of complaint free service." He decided, pushing his hand closer to the woman.

"And if it is?" Cuddy asked, raising an eyebrow. One week of heaven. It was almost too good to be true.

"If it's epilepsy I get to pick my own cases for a month and get more liberal restrictions on the tests I can do on them." House rolled his eyes. "Do we have a deal or not? I need this hand to balance." He said.

"Two weeks." Cuddy pushed, raising the stakes.

"Done." House said, tilting his head to one side. "Shake." He demanded, glancing pointedly down at his hand (he wasn't looking at his hand). Cuddy sighed, almost disgusted, and shook House's hand. House quickly turned and began to walk out of the office.

"Just like that?" Lisa asked, crossing her arms.

"I want to pick my next case tomorrow." House said, smiling crookedly at the dean. "I can assure you this won't be hard."

Cuddy was just about to reply when the door slid slowly shut. She watched House's back and hoped that for once he was wrong. She would hate to give him that sort of control over this aspect of his life. He hadn't done so well in the other area's.

"We'll get you an MRI as soon as possible-"

House opened the glass door of the womans room with his cane and was surprised twice. The first came from seeing Wilson sitting next to the patient and the second was from the patient herself. House took a step back and looked at the number on the door. No, right room. Shrugging he walked into the room.

The woman stared him down with eyes of amber.

"Can I help you?" She asked imperiously, her hands folded in front of her. House reached over and grabbed the metal clipboard, not taking his eyes off her. She returned the gaze, unwavering.

"I'm doctor House." He began, glancing down at her sheet. He began to flip through the pages and did not see the glance that passed between the woman and Wilson.

"Are you entirely necessary? Doctor Wilson has already told me the treatment I will be undergoing-" she began.

"Has he?" House looked at Wilson curiously. "Well Miss Fuentes, unless you think you have cancer I suggest you forget everything Wilson just said-"

"Cancer!" Caramia turned to glare accusingly at Wilson. "You said I had an anxiety attack!"

"I'm an oncologist." Wilson explained to her, trying to calm her down. He shot a look at House, as if his will could suddenly cause his friend to back off. House raised his eyebrows. He could see where Wilson was trying to go with this. She had a cute accent, rolling her r's prettily. It was obvious she had some intense schooling, her darting eyes not missing a thing. Miss Fuentes was quite a looker, with sharp cheekbones, almond shaped eyes and long wavy brown hair that came to a neat cut directly above her perfectly shaped breasts.

Where did that come from? House shook his head. Plastic surgery. All the rage for fifteen year old girls in South America.

"You have epilepsy." House said, looking at the two from over the clipboard.

"I'm diabetic," She replied, staring at House like he was an idiot. "I had low blood sugar that morning and went into a seizure. This isn't a regular occurrence." She said, her full mouth becoming a thin line as she became more upset.

"But it has occurred." House said, pursing his lips.

"You can't base your diagnosis on a single symptom!" Caramia countered.

"I can."

"You're wrong."

"Want to bet?"

* * *

Tell me what you think!

Am I keeping them in character? First time with these guys and all.


	3. Complexion

Thanks to my reviewers! I appreciate everything.

* * *

Outside of Caramia's room, House grabbed a hold of Wilson's shoulder before he could walk away. The cancer specialist turned slowly, not looking directly at House.

"Well?" House's eyebrows raised and he pursed his lips sullenly. He stuck his head out a little, staring down Wilson slowly. Wilson sighed and shrugged his shoulders, rolling his eyes, thoroughly exasperated, knowing fully that this was his fault for not locking the door, or at least speeding things up.

"What?"

"You were in there with my patient."

"So?"

"She doesn't have cancer." House's mouth twisted to the side and he clenched his cane tighter, a small shot of pain making its way up his leg ant through his thigh. He was wrinkling the case file in his hand between his palm and the lacquered wood. "It would seem as she doesn't have cancer, there would be no need for you to be involved."

"House." Wilson had a bit of warning in his voice, but when had House ever cared?

"You thought she was sexy." House tapped Wilson's leg with his cane and the other man winced slightly. "Making the moves on her while she's undiagnosed and possibly on her deathbed? What a downright despicable thing to do." House made a face and then leaned towards his friend.

"You're crazy." Wilson said, eye-to-eye with House, less than three inches away from the other doctor.

"I like it." House said. He then growled under his breath and turned sporadically on his good leg. Wilson sighed and shook his head.

"I wasn't going to do anything!" He called after him. House spun on his cane and walked backwards, a sly smile on his face.

"Oh I'm sure you wouldn't, you sly dog." He said, frowning in mock anger. "You would wait two days and then call her back." He pressed the up button with his cane, knocking a nurse's hand out of the way. Wilson had already left to go check in at the desk to reserve the MRI room. House glanced at his retreating back and then noticed the rather upset look on the silly nurse's face.

"Sorry. Cripple." He looked down at her. "You can take the stairs can't you?"

Upstairs House walked into his adjoining discussion room, throwing down his copy of Caramia's file onto the table. He began to talk as we walked over to the white board.

"Female, aged twenty nine, or so it says, you never know with these things." He hung up his cane on the side of the whiteboard and looked up. "Where's the moor?"

Chase and Cameron looked at each other. Chase shrugged.

"Well this isn't good." House said, frowning. "We can't diagnose a brain disorder without the brain specialist."

"You already know what it is?" Cameron asked, confused. "You just got the case an hour ago."

"Which was when I diagnosed it." House said, beginning to write on the whiteboard, the pen squeaking slightly. Big letters. E P I L E P S Y. Boxy and emotionless.

"Epilepsy." Chase said, as if saying it would change it. "Really?"

House pursed his lips and looked thoughtful. "Really." He said, nodding his head slightly. "People with epilepsy are prone to have emotional swings. She's on dopramine, an anti-depressant. She's also on birth control. Maybe she's trying to just balance out the rigors of the jetsetter life she leads and being extremely and ridiculously good looking."

"So she's on insulin, Zoloft and Mirena?"

"Actually if you looked at the file," House said, mocking her gently, "You would notice she's on desipramine for her depression and some no-name drug with progestin in it for preventing babies. And you say I don't care."

Cameron rolled her eyes and looked through the case file.

"Traumatic brain injury depression?" Chase asked curiously, looking at the file as Cameron went over Caramia's medical history. "It doesn't look like she's ever been accepted into a hospital for a brain injury."

"Thing is." House said slowly, after having written 'seizures', 'tremors', 'diabetes', and 'depression' on the board. "We don't really knooow."

"What do you mean?" Cameron asked, slightly worried.

"Since she's not a U.S. citizen-"

"Where's she from?" Chase asked, curious.

"Venezuela. I think." House said, looking up at the ceiling. His leg hurt.

"She hot?" Cameron shot him a glance and his shoulders shot up. "What? I can't ask?"

House's eyes flicked from one to the other. "Gorgeous. Skin like a Neutrogena spokes girl." House said, taking his pills out of his jacket pocket, looking at the small orange case with screwed up eyes. He shook the case, noted the number (he could tell you exactly how many he had left. Maybe he counted subconsciously, he didn't know.) took of the lid and in a practiced motion threw his head back.

Chase's eyebrows raised and Cameron sighed.

"And you're convinced it's epilepsy?" She asked, pointing with a pen at the whiteboard. House looked scandalized that she would even dream otherwise.

"What does it look like?" He said, taking his cane and limping over to her. "No." He said, standing behind her "From here still looks like epilepsy to me!"

"Depression?" Cameron asked.

"One out of four epilepsy patients are severely depressed." House said. "Mood swings. They're not just hormonal, although that might have had something to do with it."

"Couldn't it be a tumor?" Chase asked, looking up from the file. "A growth near the brain stem could cause tremors and seizures easily. And anywhere in the frontal lobe could cause a lack of control."

"We'll see." House said, becoming more serious. "Get an EEG, and an MRI of this woman's brain. Hook her up to a CT scan while you're at it." House added as they walked out of the door. "If she's having dirty thoughts about me I'd like to know."

Chase laughed and Cameron rolled her eyes again. House followed them out and Cameron glanced behind her. House was walking towards Wilson's office.

"Where are you going?"

"Making a few more bets." House said, calling over his shoulder. "I think I'm going to win."

Cameron wanted to hit him but turned and followed Chase instead. House could make the biggest ass of himself however he wanted. Wilson might not let him off this time.

* * *

In character? I think it's not too badly done.

Click? Hate for the shameless begging.

V


	4. Done Deal

Thanks for the reviews! A bit of profanity in this one.

* * *

In the MRI room Chase and Cameron sat still, staring at the screens in front of them. Caramia was lying prone on scanner in the room in front of them, about to slide into the machine. Chase leaned forward and pressed down the button on the intercom.

"Hold still. This won't take but half an hour."

Caramia was about to say something, but remained silent, a small frown on her face. There weren't many good comebacks for lying down waiting to enter a big, rather intimidating piece of medical machinery. Amid a few beeps and flashing lights she was slid into the machine slowly.

Chase glanced at Cameron, noting that she was engrossed in the imperfect file of Miss Fuentes. She flipped through a few pages and sighed, putting the skimpy file on the desk in front of her, monitoring the screens.

"Do you know if we can get in touch with any of her relatives?" Cameron asked, turning to Chase.

The other doctor shrugged and pulled out his cell phone, sliding it open and beginning to type furiously on the keypad.

"Really?"

Chase looked up. "What?"

Cameron rolled her eyes. "We're supposed to be supervising the patient." She said, making a great case for her undeniable ability to state the obvious in any situation.

"I know." Chase said, sliding his phone into his lab coats pocket. "See?" He held up his hands. "Nothing there!"

"You're impossible." She turned back to the flickering screens, watching each cross section waver slowly into focus. "Who were you texting anyway?" She asked, not looking up at him.

Chase glanced at her before turning to his own screen. "None of your business." He said, almost teasing her. She looked up at him and glared. He smiled back and she gave him a light shove on his shoulder.

"You're so immature." He said, faking whining.

"You're the one acting like a child." She replied.

Chase suddenly stuck his tongue and then quickly turned away. Cameron bit her lips, turning them into a thin line before she cracked and laughed a bit. Chase smiled and then turned back to the screens.

"She's still doing fine." He pressed the intercom button. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm in a three foot by two foot cylinder of gamma waves and magnetic radiation because I might have anything from cancer to a merely wasted time, how do you think I feel doctor?"

"Understood." Chase sat back in his chair and shook his head. "What a bitch." Cameron shrugged, watching the MRI screens as new crossections scrolled down.

"I don't see anything." She said, her eyes focused on the brain. "Why isn't Foreman here?"

"He'll see it later." Chase reasoned. A silence fell between then and suddenly they heard a strange whirring sound. Cameron jumped, looking over at the machine's stats. It was fine. Caramia was stable. What on earth-

Chase pulled out his phone and Cameron resisted the urge to throw it into the MRI room. Chase frowned at his screen, sent off a quick text and then slipped his phone out of sight again. He looked at Cameron and shrugged under her glare.

"What?"

"You're repeating yourself."

"She's fine."

Cameron noticed a slight shift in the images and pushed the intercom. "Hold still."

"I am."

Chase frowned and Cameron quickly stood up. "Turn it off! She's about to have a seizure!"

"She has a shake, not a seizure." Chase said, trying not to be condescending.

"I'm telling you-"

Suddenly the images began to get blurry, and Caramia's appendages began to shake and thrash inside the machine. Chase barely had time to say the words 'oh shit' before Cameron shut off the machine and ran into the room. She pressed the red button on the side of the machine and Chase followed her, yelling for a nurse.

Caramia's body slid slowly out and her seizures continued as Chase and Cameron tried to restrain her. Violent thrashing pushed against the two doctors and Chase was afraid he might break her arm restraining her wild movements.

"Ah!" Chase looked up as Cameron stepped away from the patient, holding her arm. Caramia has managed to pull on Cameron's shoulder so hard that she could barely feel her fingers. Chase Quickly reached over and tried to restrain Caramia, a hand on each shoulder.

The nurses began pouring in, two carrying a stretcher. A few more helped chase hold down Caramia and quickly transferred her to the stretcher, strapping her down tight enough to bruise.

The two doctors were left alone in the MRI room after the nurses had left to take the patient up to her room to deliver some sedation.

"Are you alright?" Chase asked Cameron, putting an arm around her and leading her out of the room.

"I'm fine."

"I don't believe you." Chase said steering Cameron towards the physical therapy sectors.

"Chase-"

"Shut up."

* * *

Luckily for Doctor House, the patient whose meeting he would have interrupted had just exited Wilson's office. House in fact, held the door open for her as she walked away. Stepping inside of his friends office, he sat in the comfortable chair in front of the paper-littered desk and propped his feet up on the bright new nametag Wilson had just bought for himself.

"What do you want?"

"You sound so happy to see me." House said, frowning slightly. "Is there something remiss?"

Wilson shoved House's legs off his desk and threw the other man a dirty look. "Yes. You're presence is remiss."

"I don't think that's the proper use of the word remiss." House said, tapping the side of his face lightly with his cane. He lowered his legs slowly to the ground, massaging his right thigh.

"I don't care." Wilson said, his eyebrows raising as he began to try to organize his office. "Why are you here?"

"Why are any of us here?" House asked brightly, looking up at the ceiling as if it would give him answers.

"Don't act like you're religious."

"Who said I was?"

"Why are you here again?" Wilson asked, pointing at him with a handful of papers that was obviously meant to make it appear as if he was actually doing something.

"How likely is it that this woman has brain cancer?"

Wilson frowned and sat down slowly as House watched him, his hands tucked under his chin, supported by his cane. "Any particular reason."

"I like to know my odds." House said, staring up at the man.

Wilson thought for a bit. "Without the test I can't be sure-"

"Odds."

"I would give it about a twenty-five percent chance" Wilson opened, staring at his desk.

"Good enough for me!" House said, standing up and beginning to walk our of Wilson's office.

"That it isn't cancer."

House stopped with one hand on the knob out of the office. Oh dear. This did complicate things. He sighed and half-turned to Wilson. "What if I said it wasn't cancer?"

"I'd say you were probably wrong."

"Great. I always wanted to be a monk."

"What?" Wilson was confused.

House leaned against the open door. "I told Cuddy that if it wasn't epilepsy that I wouldn't complain for two weeks."

"Why would you do that?"

House stared up at the ceiling again. "No reason."

Wilson frowned. "What if it is epilepsy?"

House shrugged. "I get to pick my cases and get more liberal ok's on whatever sort of shit I want to put my little puzzle pieces through. Do you think I can get a polygraph?"

"If it's not epilepsy, I want you to ask her on a date."

House looked at Wilson sharply, his bright eyes glittering. "How about if it's brain cancer?" He asked. "But if it isn't, I'll get something from you."

"What do you want?" Wilson asked, slightly amused.

House thought, his mouth pursed slightly. "I want you to get yourself a hooker."

"I have a girlfriend!"

"I have a reputation." House said, staring at Wilson.

It took a few minutes of an intense staring contest to get Wilson to back down.

"Deal." He said, sighing.

"Done!" House said, smiling and slipping out of the office.

Wilson shook his head and turned around in his chair, beginning to reorganize his shelves. It was only a few minutes later that he realized that if House was right about this girl, he wouldn't be any worse off for it.

Fuck.

* * *

Tell me what you think!


	5. Exasperate

Thanks for the review.

The only reason I don't add in more character fluff is because I want this to be pretty plot based.

I know it's slow.

But it's pretty short chapters in my opinion.

It'll get good soon.

Give it to 'G'

Language and references to anatomy.

* * *

House was sitting in his conference room, slowly turning his cane over in his hand. He was staring at the white board, looking over the symptoms and running situations over in his head. He guessed only had about a week to figure this girl out before she was forcibly deported back to Venezuela, and he could hardly let one of his bed cases go unsolved. Because if he couldn't figure it out some other idiot might come in and try to guess at her disease willy-nilly.

Then again, epilepsy wasn't that hard of a diagnosis, especially with all the drugs the girl was on already. Everything she took was just an opening for her epilepsy to take control House looked up as Chase held the door open for Cameron. Cameron's arm was in a sling and she glared at House as she sat down, daring him to say something.

"Get me some coffee." He said staring at the girl. Cameron looked at him, annoyed. Chase glanced between them and stood up. "I'll get it."

"No!" House turned to Chase. "I want her to."

"It's no problem." Chase insisted, picking up House's red mug and filing it with coffee. House turned to Cameron and hissed "Cripple!", shutting his mouth as Chase came back. The younger doctor placed it in front of him and waited a few seconds. "Aren't you going to drink it?"

"Not thirsty."

Chase sighed and Cameron rolled her eyes.

"So what did the MRI show?"

Cameron pulled the images out of their manila folder and handed them to House. The last six frames were progressively more blurred. "Nothing that wouldn't rule out epilepsy." She said grudgingly as House looked over the sheet. "There could be lesions we can't see, little pieces of scar tissue we can't really find. Doing another MRI might not work out, if this one caused a seizure, we can assume it would happen again."

"Her hippocampi look a tad swollen." House noted as he reached into his jacket and pulled out his pills. His leg was starting to twinge and he really didn't want another night of pain. He could hardly sleep at all last night. The stiffness and sore joints was terrible. Three more hours before he could, officially go home.

"She had just started to go through tremors when that screen was taken." Chase explained as he sat down across from House.

Foreman suddenly burst in and threw a rather large file down on the table.

"That's her family history." He said, and the entire room stared at him like he was crazy. "I swear, I checked and rechecked it."

"What contact hooked you up with this diamond?" House said, throwing aside the MRI, nearly knocking over his coffee in the process. Foreman put his hands in the pockets of his lab coat and continued to talk.

"Her family is part of the Juarez drug cartel." Foreman announced as all three of the other doctors began to dissect the thick file. "That's part family history, part FBI rap sheet and part medical information. The longer we keep this girl in here the more danger she and we are in. 'Help me' laws won't protect us if she doesn't get out of here soon."

"What are you saying?" House asked, raising an eyebrow.

"If she isn't out of the country in three days she will either be forcibly extradited or we will be held responsible for harboring an international criminal." Foreman said. "Cuddy just told me that guards and federal agents will be monitoring the hospital. Watch your addiction." He said to House. House grimaced as Foreman glanced over at the whiteboard.

"You would know all about harboring criminals. I bet people do it all the time back where you're from." House said, beginning to shuffle through the personal section of the file.

"You can add short-term memory loss to that list. After the seizure she thought she was still on her plane. Seemed really subdued when I told her she was in New Jersey."

"Her Uncle was assassinated when she was eighteen. Then all the money, and let's assume, power went to her dad. Who is. . . " a few pages were flipped, "either dead, in hiding, or a woman." House noted.

"Two of her cousins, a brother and an aunt were implicated in the serial murder scene 'House of Death.'" Chase said, whistling slightly.

"She was given a million-a-month allowance when she turned sixteen."

"That's where the breasts came from."

"Her uncle once controlled over half of all illegal drugs into the states. Her Father is still controlling the underground." House said appreciatively. "Think I could get a hook up?"

"Maybe it is the hippocampus. That's related to memory. Did you check her depth perception?" Cameron asked as Chase and House continued to go over Caramia's fast facts. Foreman shrugged.

"Possibly. But it's probably just disorientation. She bumped her head pretty hard on the way to her room." Cameron looked annoyed and Foreman held up his hands. "I'm just suggesting an alternative."

"They shipped directly into Manhattan. Directly. Do you understand how ridiculously bitchin' that is?" House raised an eyebrow.

"Great. They could just drop you a crate attached to a parachute and leave less of a paper trail. Those prescriptions bills must be piling up."

"We can't rule it out though." Cameron insisted.

"If there's something wrong with her memory we could give her an EEG and measure the sharp waves and theta rhythms." Foreman said.

"There might be a correlation between her memory and sleep patterns. If her hippocampus is damaged won't there be a bit of a difference?"

House looked up suddenly. "Hey."

Cameron and Foreman stared at House as Chase continued to sift through the file. "You can't make base assumptions without me."

"I think we just did." Foreman said.

"Don't act badass. You're bad at it."

"Odd, I thought black people are automatically more badass than white people." Cameron said scathingly. House looked over at her.

"I make the racist remarks around here."

"Be my guest. As if you really want a harassment lawsuit."

Foreman rolled his eyes. "I'll get a scanning room." He muttered as he left.

Cameron stood up. "I need to go check her blood work." She was pushing open the door as House stopped her, calling her back as an afterthought.

"Test for STD's too."

"Which ones?" Cameron asked.

"All of them."

"She doesn't have any symptoms."

"That we know about."

"So why are we testing her?"

"Look at her. It's like she has a stamp on her forehead that is just screaming 'Do me! Do me!'."

Cameron shook her head and stepped out of the conference area. House turned to chase.

"Good news or bad news?"

"Uh. . . Bad news."

"You need to go deal with the witch and ask about her personal life."

"Good news?"

"If you're lucky you might get a look at her va-jay-jay."

Chase stared at House.

"What?"

"That is wrong on so many levels." Chase said, standing up and taking a few of the more relevant family history notes with him.

"You're excited."

"If I do get a look down there," Chase said, frowning a bit at the thought. "It means she thinks she might have an STD. Which means whatever I see probably won't be pretty."

"Good point." House frowned, "But from my experience privates are still privates, diseased or not."

"Gross." Chase said brusquely and exited the room, by now fully disgusted.

House turned and uncorked the black pen, putting 'amnesia' on the board. He then stood up flipped it over, and hung his cane on it. He tapped the pen against the blank board and wrote 'Wilson' and 'Cuddy'. Under each he listed the bet parameters and the rewards of each. Over the top of the entire thing he wrote EPILEPSY, again, in ridiculously large, over confident letters.

"Why aren't you in the clinic?!"

House grabbed his cane and neatly flipped the board over so that it displayed the regular notes on a patient.

"I was discussing the newest addition to my litany of misdeeds." House said before his eyes dropped to Cuddy's neckline. "Oh dear. Speaking of misdeeds."

"Jesus Christ House." Cuddy said, leaning against the door as if House physically and emotionally drained her. "Put your eyes back in your head and take the elevator down to the clinic. There are too many people waiting for doctors for you to just be hanging about her ogling your latest case."

"That's actually Chase's job." House explained, leaning on his cane and limping towards the exit of his conference room. "you missed that brightly colored conversation." House said as he stopped in front of her, squeezed as she was between the glass frame of the doorway.

"Why did you do that?" Cuddy said, squeezing through to the other side of the door, getting awfully close to House and brushing against him as she turned away.

"You're wearing perfume."

"What if I am?" Cuddy said, rolling her eyes.

'Why?"

"Maybe I like the way it smells."

"Do you know what perfume was made for?" House asked, raising an eyebrow.

"To make people smell good." Cuddy answered, annoyed beyond belief. "Does it matter?"

"Firstly, your wrong." Cuddy looked rather offended "Secondly, it does. Perfume was made to attract members of the opposite sex by inducing a reaction similar to that of an elevated hormone state. You want someone to want you." House was fairly close to Cuddy and Lisa was very close to shoving House or kicking his cane out from under him.

"Want me?" He asked, tilting his head to the side.

"I'm out of your league." Cuddy said, turning on her high heels and marching off towards her office. House watched her go, eying her butt as she went. She wore rather tight skirts to be strutting around like that, pumps and all.

"Stop staring at my ass." She called over her shoulder, and House stuck his tongue out.

"Spoil my fun." House muttered and went over to the elevator, pushing a button down.

Clinic duty for an hour (less, if he had his way) and then back to Caramia's case. All he needed was a bit of proof. Goddamn him to hell if it wasn't epilepsy. He would really hate to have to ask Cuddy out. He was hoping he could just get her in bed without going through their college fumblings.

Fuck. He hated memories.

* * *

I know people read this.

You lazy jerks.

I appreciate you anyway.


	6. Fallout

Thanks to my reviewers! I particularly enjoyed this chapter.

It was easy to write.

I like the pervy House. It's why he's in here more than the bitter, i-hate-the-world House.

My philosophy is that he just needs a good lay. We'll see how it goes.

* * *

"Exam room five."

House glared at the nurse, who stared back at him, completely unintimidated. "Doctor House?"

"Goody." He said as he snatched away the file from the girl who turned, calmly to the next resident. House was about to enter the room before he turned and yelled back at the nurse's back.

"Your scrubs make you look fat!" He yelled, darting into his room. He waited a few seconds then peeked out, happy to see a small flush on the back of the woman's neck. Smirking to himself he turned all the way into his room, opening the folder and reviewing the loopy handwriting.

"I'm doctor House." He said, not looking at the patient but at her file. Seventeen, female, complaining of leg pains. He could almost sympathize.

"Well Miss. . ."

House looked up, leaning on his cane. The girl sitting on the plastic bed in front of him wasn't particularly pretty, not ugly. Decent. Bright red hair, blue-green eyes and lots of freckles. She looked extremely athletic, with large hips and muscular legs. Field hockey or soccer, considering the season, possibly lacrosse.

"Nelson." Her mother said. House glanced to his right and saw the middle-aged fourty-something woman and wondered where his patient got her looks. The mother was beautiful, with the same hair just a few shades darker, but still fantastically rouge, and bright green eyes. "Her name is Therese Nelson."

"Mom." The girl whined. "Terry. Please."

House glanced from one to the other. As much as he would love to see the two get into a catfight he had a more important case to attend to.

"Right." He said, looking through the slim file. "Terry. What's your problem?" He asked, mouth to the side, leaning on his cane and staring hard at the girl.

"For about the past month my feet, ankles, and knees have been hurting really bad."

Real bad helped a real lot. "Play any sports?"

"Soccer training just started, but I've been doing cross country practices since summer started - it never hurt then." The girl shrugged. "It normally only hurts in the middle of the night thought, not when my muscles burn from a hard workout." She explained. "It's like there's fire in my joints. It's awful."

"Ever thought it might just be because you run on hard ground?" House asked, putting the file down and sitting on a stool.

"We've tried everything Doctor." The mother interrupted before Terry had a chance to open her mouth. "Ice packs, massage, hot baths. Nothing seems to be working."

"Family history of arthritis?"

"She's seventeen!" Mrs. Nelson exclaimed, confused.

"My grandpa." Terry butted in, glaring at her mother. "He played guitar though, for most of his life. That's why he had joint pain."

"I don't see how that could be related at all." The mother sighed.

"Great." House said brightly. He nodded at Terry. "Take off your shoes."

Terry frowned but did as she was asked, unlacing the converse all stars and then taking off her socks as well. House grimaced. There were enflamed red areas on the inner sides of her feet.

"That's just from the shoes." Terry explained. "It happens when you don't get a lot of support."

House swung his head towards the elder Mrs. Nelson.

"Can I have few minutes alone with your daughter?" He asked, almost nice. She was extremely pretty. The mother frowned and looked like she was about to complain but she was tired. She nodded silently and stood, her red pumps flashing as she exited. The door shut and House turned back to Terry.

"You got a dad at home?"

"Yes." Terry looked rather indifferent.

"Get that a lot?"

"You have no idea." The girl rolled her eyes, slipping her socks back on. "Is that what you needed to ask me?"

"One question of many." House said, watching the girl for any reaction. "When you're in pain do you take aspirin?"

"Who wouldn't?" Terry asked.

"Eat a lot of meat?"

"I need the protein. Muscle mass." She said, reaching for her shoes. "Did you need to send my mom out for dietary questions? She would have been more than happy to-"

"Drink a lot?" House interrupted, annoyed at the girls lip.

"Well yeah, I drink tons of water after soccer practice. I get dehydrated easily." She said.

"I meant alcohol." While dehydration was interesting, beer was far more important.

Terry momentarily stiffened her shoulders as she laced up her high tops. She glanced at House and then resumed tying a quick knot, her mouth in a tight line. "Need to know?"

House rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't have asked otherwise." He said, looking at her. Terry returned his gaze and, without a hint of hesitation, responded. "Yeah. With the girls." House was almost surprised at her honesty but then realized that she wanted to get out of here as much as he did.

"From soccer?"

"Started at the end of cross country season. Big party. That was the first time." She shrugged. "I'm not stupid about it. We sleep over at one of the girls houses. No driving. No one's been hurt, it's always just the girls, no boys allowed."

"Cool." House said, his tone sarcastic. By now he was thoroughly annoyed at the girl. "You have gout." He announced.

"What?"

"It's caused by a buildup of uric acid crystals in your joints." He said, swiveling on his chair and scribbling on his scrip pad. "Don't worry. It's treatable. I need a blood test to confirm, but . . ." He paused, looking at Terry. "You're a textbook case." He scribbled in the file, ordering the tests. "I'll give you pills to stop the attacks, but you'll need further medication to get rid of all those darn crystals Buddy has given you."

"Really?" Terry said, surprised. "That's it?" she asked, reaching for the paper House held out to her.

"A few conditions." House said, jerking the paper away. "One. Stop drinking. It messes with your acid. Two, no more aspirin."

"What about midol?"

"Don't interrupt. It's rude. Three, no midol." Terry rolled her eyes. "Four, eat your damn vegetables and lay off the red meant."

"Is that five or an extension of four?" Terry asked, annoyed. House whacked her ankle with his cane and Terry winced, shying away.

"Ouch! I have gout!"

"Six," House continued.

_For the love of god_. Terry rolled her eyes.

"Does your mom have a cell number?" Houses eyebrows raised and he pursed his lips, half-joking, half-serious.

"Why should I tell you?" Terry huffed. "You hit me."

House pushed his stool over to Terry, who crossed her arms, sulking. He leaned in towards her and Terry watched him through narrowed eyes.

"You give me the digits that can connect me to you mothers telephonic cellular device and I shan't breath a word of your soccer sleepovers." House said, raising an eyebrow. "Deal?"

"Isn't there some sort of doctor-patient privacy law?"

"I've been known to break it." House admitted.

It didn't take Terry long to answer.

"Deal."

* * *

Two more clinic hours later House finally made his way into his conference room, popping another pill on the elevator, He noticed a distinct dark smudge on his white board. He glanced at Cameron, who held out a piece of paper to him.

"She has gonorrhea." Cameron said as House glanced over the sheet.

"Told you."

"Lucky guess."

"I'm not lucky." House said, pushing the sheet back to Cameron who placed it in the file. "I'm just that good." He pointed to the whiteboard.

"Is that what you were trying to write here?"

"I'm right handed." She said, wiggling her sling-bound fingers. "Doesn't work out so well wrapped up."

"That's what she said." House muttered, taking the marker from her and writing the STD on the board.

"Really?" Cameron asked, raising an eyebrow. "That's how you respond?"

"What'd you expect?" He asked just as Chase came in the door.

"She has abscesses on the insides of her ovaries." Chase said. "I've given her to the nursing staff to drain the pus and put her on ceftriaxone antibodies to kill the infection."

"Have her take azithromycin as well."

Cameron frowned. "You think she has Chlamydia?" She asked. "The blood work doesn't show-"

"Early stages of Chlamydia can hide behind more established infections, such as late-stage gonorrhea." He explained, walking over to the coffee table. "I'm just being cautious."

"I have an EEG room for tomorrow at seven." Foreman announced, walking in. "And an CT scan scheduled for later today. It's not as traumatizing as your first trip in an MRI. Hopefully she won't start seizing-"

"Great!" House said, draining his coffee and placing it on the table. "I'm going home." He began to walk towards the door.

Cameron stopped him with a small exclamation. "You're not going to wait and look at the CT scans? Cuddy said we need to get this case figured out as soon as possible-"

"Poker night."

"It's Tuesday." Chase said. "Poker nights are Friday."

"Right!" House said. "It is Tuesday. Think that poker was my cover up for what I really do on Tuesday?"

"I didn't know you had a schedule." Foreman said, crossing his arms.

"Tuesday." House proclaimed, continuing on. "I go home play some pretty impromptu jazz on my old six track and get stoned off my ass." He turned to Cameron. "Wanna come?"

Cameron pursed her lips and Chase laughed a bit shaking his head.

"Caramia could be forcibly removed from this hospital, and by people you can't argue with." Foreman said, trying to appeal to House's love for her riddles. "Do you want her to go without finding out what's wrong with her?"

"Nooo." House said, opening up his conference room, pushing the door open his back as he limped out into the hallway. "But that's not going to stop me getting stoned."

"I will." Cuddy stood in front of him, arms crossed.

"It's not often I get reprimanded two times in one day." House said, trying to side step the dean. "Oh wait." Lisa stepped right in front of him, blocking his way. House tried it again, with the same results.

"Ever heard the one about idiots and expectations?" Cuddy asked.

"Can I go home, please? It's seven. Two hours past bedtime." House pleaded, sticking out his lower lip.

"You can leave at nine."

"Eight." House said, raising his eyebrows.

"Eight thirty."

"Seven thirty?"

"Eight." Cuddy relented, rolling her eyes. "And not a minute before. I'll have Jose stop you."

"Cool." House said, spinning and turning to his group. "Chase, try to get in touch with one of her relatives, you can even be in her room. Foreman, try to speed up that CT scan and reschedule her in for an EEG tomorrow afternoon. I'm not going to be coherent until one. Cameron, go over whatever infections might be linked by depression meds, std's and a lack of food getting into her system. Ten bucks says she's anorexic." He watched, pleased, as his employees left in a hurry. He turned back to Cuddy.

"And you say I'm not on top of things." He said, tilting his head to one side. "Although for you I'll make an exception."

"We already had this conversation today." Lisa said, turning away from House. "Eight."

"Dinner at nine?"

"No." Cuddy said, pulling open Wilson's door.

"Good idea. We'll skip that and go right to my place."

"Hell no." The door shut.

House looked into his blue blazer pocket, pulling out the number scribbled in loopy handwriting. "Maybe Candy will go instead." He muttered to himself, turning into his conference room. Candace Nelson. Maybe. She did have a hooker name.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Next chapter will be more fun. You'll get to see bodily fluids come out of places they shouldn't.

And you'll meet Alvaro.

And you'll get a bit of Huddy.

Oh dear. I've said to much.

Review?


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